


And I find it kind of funny (I find it kind of sad.)

by Grain_Crain



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grain_Crain/pseuds/Grain_Crain
Summary: Not everybody gets to have Halloween fun.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	And I find it kind of funny (I find it kind of sad.)

**Author's Note:**

> This another story that I helped to fill in the missed out day for [Dualrainbow](https://dualrainbow.tumblr.com/)'s event, [Siege-O-Ween](https://dualrainbow.tumblr.com/post/631197769862987776/siege-o-ween-hello-everybody-the-spookiest-month)! 
> 
> The prompt is: "Come closer."

“Come closer.”

It’s a murmur that would’ve been barely audible during daytime. A sliver of rasp amongst rustling leaves, footsteps, mild chatter, swishing of clothes and distant humming from the radio. Not even those with exceptional hearing would have heard the voice, and perhaps it has been lurking in the darkness until all are asleep except its target audience. Maverick happens to be the one heeding to the call. He always has, ever since he began to yearn for what other children at his age had.

Let’s take back to those days when he knew only one name for himself. Erik was the quiet kid who didn’t mingle well with the loud crowd, but there were a few others who got along with him. Friendship within his close-knit peer was entirely his; playful chasing games, hide and seek during recess, sneaky nudging under the table when the reading class nearly sent them asleep, swapping sandwiches to taste the infamous lunchables. Maverick can say those were the times that allowed little Erik to breathe. School was a different kind of stimulation than what his parents gave him at home. Children didn’t care if he was a genius or not, while his parents tried far too many different methods to nurture the innate intelligence within him. Sometimes those homeschool lessons were overbearing, but it certainly helped him to gain confidence at school by being one of the smartest.

Then on the fourth week of October, Erik learned about a peculiar event. Ghost stories, oddly sculpted pumpkins, colourful costumes and door-to-door visits to collect mouth watering candies. Upon hearing his friends’ experiences, Erik wondered why he hadn’t done such a thing at home. Some even boasted about having their first trick-or-treat when they were three, which stirred Erik deep within his chest. _Maybe this time I can get out of home and go walk around the neighbourhood!_ His mouth was agape in surprise. These stories gave him the second-hand excitement, as if he was there when his friends had pretended to be ghastly beings who took candies from other people. People who weren’t even their family. Complete strangers giving out treats! He had to tell his parents. The day felt too long, as the anticipation got his heart beating quicker than ever.

The school bell prompted Erik to dash out and jump into his family’s car. He passed on the good news, narrated every detail he had heard and visualised himself in the stories as if Halloween would be only one sleep away. The heated enthusiasm eventually simmered down when his mother nodded and smiled, “That’s great, honey.” But he was blind from what she really tried to convey. All he could think about was an idea for a costume, places to roam with his friends and where he can hide the confectionaries around the house after the gathering. Neither of his parents stopped Erik from drawing a skull on a paper bag. He understood their behaviour to be an unspoken approval and that was a good enough fuel to kindle his hope.

The day had come and Erik left the school ground after promising his friends to meet up at the local park. One of their parents will also be there to stroll along, so it sounded quite safe and approval worthy. He climbed into the car, swallowed down the anxiety and proceeded to ask, “Mom, can I go trick or treating?” She squinted as if they hadn’t talked about such a thing, so Erik explained from top to bottom. The festivities, how everyone else was joining in, the fact his friend’s mother will be there and how they will stay within the neighbourhood. She kept her lips shut and that’s when his heart started to sink. It was the most uncomfortable car ride he had as a seven year old, and probably the first time he cried to protest.

His mother wasn’t a heartless authoritarian. Stern but loving, she gave him cuddles and when they arrived back at home and her soothing voice was calming as usual. His memories are unclear to recall what she told him, but Maverick remembers wearing the skeleton costume he worked on throughout the month. He also stood by the doorstep with his head hanging low while other little monsters came by to collect candies from him, and apparently that was the best she could compromise. At least he got to participate, to feel the spooky autumn spirit. Little did she know how defeated he felt. The negativity spiked upon seeing his school friends walking into his yard, giggling and laughing amongst themselves. _He should’ve been there. There was a spot for him to be with his friends and indulge what could have been his._

So no one could blame him for running away. Erik sobbed once again and felt suffocated within his own hot breath, but there was no other place than his room to deafen voices calling out for him. He could hear them sharing niceties and his mother's usual spiel of calling her son 'a little shy,’ Soon all fell silent, then his mother's voice called out once again. Erik locked the door and screamed how he wanted to be left alone. He knew it’s not his friends’ fault for leaving so quickly, but at the time his emotions were heading straight down south. _They left me behind. Now no one will play with me at school. I’m sure they will find me weird._ Thoughts festered and bit into one another, and at one point he was tempted to open the window and run out. He could do it if he really wanted to, despite the harsh repercussions that may follow after.

“Erik?” At first he couldn’t recognise the whisper. Even the taps against the window made him wonder if the branches were swaying by the wind, then something flickered on the lower corner, “Quick, come closer.” He heard it again, looked down and nearly called out for his mum. Pale, pointy nose and hollowed out almond-shaped eyes. Count Dracula was leaning up close, but Erik soon recognised the mask and noticed how oddly small and soft those hands appeared against the glass. It was his friend who snuck away from his group to share some lemon drops. Reckless and risky, but not what children would prioritise; no one likes being sad and Erik had a friend who cared. The little sheltered boy tasted compassion and kindness, but the hard candy also left his tongue dry as it melted away. Of course, the night ended with him apologising to his mother and a glass of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. This was his mother and here he was, raised to be obedient in an undeniably comfortable household.

Here is the thing. Children cannot be raised like a doll, especially for those who have a natural curiosity in everything. Erik learned to acknowledge the privilege in his upbringing as he matured, but the thirst also grew ever since his first Halloween. There were other defining moments that led up to the moment, and yet the root of his desire for independence goes back to those carefree days. The separation was ugly at best and he might have started his career with many anguished months to come. Then the sweet freedom. Liberation for autonomy! Erik finally regained experiences that were his own as a whole. To learn Dari, that was his choice. Becoming an Intelligence Officer felt like second nature to him as he was raised to perform like a compact supercomputer. Travelling to Kabul to let not his Dari go to waste was an excuse, because he was looking for an adventure. Somewhere completely different to start anew by paving the road from scratch.

Those hellish two years still haunt him. It comes in all shapes and forms; starting from concrete evidence like permanent scars carved into his body, and to the abstract sense of fear and desperation etched onto the soul. From the day he was rescued, Maverick tried to bury any memories and thoughts that caused him to be in such predicament. _So why now, of all time? Why is he hearing it again?_

"Come closer."

Maverick holds an urge to throw anything at its direction. This phantom has been pestering him quite a while, and what a nasty touch to have it sound like a child. The hallucination wasn't welcomed at all when he started to hear it in complete darkness and dirt. Ironically, it helped him to stay as a Delta rather than a national traitor when he was tortured day and night, but the beckoning became more of a chant when he was left alone without food and water.

"Come closer."

_To where? I couldn't go anywhere back then. I was on the verge of giving up on everything. Haven't I heard you enough? I'm not in the torture chamber anymore, so you can leave me alone now._

"Come _closer."_

_I don't regret my time in Afghanistan, do you hear me? If you're trying to have me remember what I've done to be captured, then tough luck. It's my memory to savour._

"Come closer."

"Shut it, damn you." To his surprise, a groan escapes his lips and it sounds more alien than a meandering voice in his head. He must have gone crazy right now, having a dialogue with a remnant of a broken record from the past.

"Come closer."

“You’re nothing but my regret. Thought I had locked you away somewhere deep, but come on. I’m not going to hear you saying the same shit over and over every year.” Guess that’s the price he pays, and he has accepted the demons that won’t go away.

“Come closer.” The silhouette takes a more solid form as it steps out from the haze of his memory. It’s not the Count Dracula; more like a boy who is wearing a soggy paper bag skull over his head.

Maverick meets little Erik again, but this time their reunion isn’t a one-sided video tape. They are face to face within his head space, and perhaps he will do something different tonight, “You know what? Okay. I’ll come closer.” As Maverick nears the smaller figure, he sees Erik holding his arms up. One cuddle. Perhaps that’s all he needed for himself. It’s no one’s responsibility but his own to embrace the regret and take it in stride.

“You’ve came.” Erik wraps his arms around the bigger version of himself and leans in. Within seconds, he turns transparent as sunlight shines through the window. Maverick stays still until he has nothing in his arms, and that’s when he wakes up from a short nap.


End file.
